


Packed

by Anonymous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Breeding, Complete id fic, Dubious Consent, F/M, Knotting, M/M, Mpreg, Multi, Multiple Births, Pregnancy, no redeeming features
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-10 21:56:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4409297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pack orgy nonsense. Derek's busy rebuilding the Hale pack the old fashioned way. Stiles keeps the boys busy while Derek finishes breeding the girls. They'll be breeding the boys later.</p><p>Terrible pack porn without even all that much porn, and so many pups omg.</p><p>Please note: in this story, the mythical pack bonds are significantly distorting normal behaviour to build the pack up fast; it is also suggested that Derek could control the pack to a great degree but is choosing not to, preferring that his pack have some agency.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Packed

Stiles whimpers, sore and wet, as Boyd guides him down onto his lap. His ass is already full of cum, the guys have spent most of the three days of the full moon knotted inside him. He's been fed by them, cleaned by them, and fucked fucked fucked by them. He never wakes alone or empty, there's always someone slowly riding his loose hole, a hand flat over his cum swollen belly, making sure he feels every inch of the long cocks pushing in and out of him. Boyd groans, cums the second he's fully embedded, knotting him. Stiles smiles.

Derek holds still, dick buried in Alison's wet cunt as she writhes and gasps, lost deep in orgasm, wholly uninhibited, begging him for more, harder, deeper. She wants to be fucked like this forever, she hitches out, and he rubs gently at the place where they are joined. His knot keeps her turned on, his cum guarantees that she will be willing, again and again, to beg to be filled and bred. Erica is curled up to one side, her belly full and tight, 5 months gone, and Lydia is newly pregnant, not even showing but stinking of it to a wolf's nose. Allison is empty and desperate.

Allison had dropped her first litter a mere two months previously, for all that she'd spent more time on Scott's dick than their Alpha's, every last pup in her litter had been Derek's. Little Argent-Hale wolves, five of them, two born as pups, three as human infants, all five werewolves. Scott had raged when he realised, raged and screamed at Allison for unfaithfulness, at Derek for stealing her even though he'd watched Derek take her and rolled over easily to take Derek's dick in his own ass minutes after. He'd never really understood what building the pack meant. What being pack meant. He would though. The litter Scott was carrying, bred on him by Derek and his Alpha mate was seeing to that.

Stiles watched. He'd dropped his own litter, four Stilinski-Hale pups, a year before, and was more than happy to let the girls take up the strain of growing the pack. He'd have another litter soon, and then, he would breed one on Derek and their pack would be almost complete. Jackson, Isaac and Boyd's pups would come later, after they had been bred themselves, and after the Alpha's cum and pups have opened up their mates, identified them as pack. Stiles wondered sometimes if they would ever breed Peter. It would be his job, most likely. He hoped so.

Lydia liked being fucked. She wasn't so keen on the breeding, but everything she'd read or learned told her that was the price of full admission into the pack: blood ties with the Alpha. She wondered, as he rammed deep into her, if the reason he always mounted her from behind, used her ruthlessly hard, was because he was afraid Stiles still wanted her. Stiles had refused to breed her, wary of Derek's jealousy, so this would be her second litter by Hale, instead one from each of the pack Alphas. She wanted Stiles' pups. For now though, the broad stretch of Derek in her cunt would suffice.

Erica doesn't want to know who fathered her second litter. Her first were Derek's -- they had to be. But for the second litter, Stiles had shared her with the betas, and she worries that she'll have a pup by each of them, Stiles, Boyd, Isaac, Jackson, Scott. There's four months to go, maybe less: werewolves cook fast it turns out, and so far they've all averaged about seven and a half to eight months. Even the boys. She smothers a grin -- if Scott was there she'd let it out, but it's not worth it right now.

Scott is curled up in the bathroom, the taste of bile sour and awful in his mouth. He'd get up to brush his teeth but the sink feels a dangerously long way away. He's really not sure he could get there without puking again. He'd rather stay here and rest his head against the porcelain. A soft tap on the door is all the warning he gets before Peter slips into the bathroom with him. He scoops him up off the floor and sits him on the edge of the bath, offers water, toothbrush, mops him up, one hand on his huge belly.

"Derek asked me to come help you," Peter says, and wrings out a cold flannel. "Here." Scott moans, the cool cloth feels amazing on his overheated body: late pregnancy in the height of summer is bad enough. Add to it the full moon, and the raw scent of his mate being bred by his Alpha (and the stirring jealousy that she gets to ride his dick while he pukes in a upstairs bathroom), and he can't think of anything except the roiling of his stomach. His pups kick. Derek had taken him ruthlessly, thoroughly, had broken his every preconception and filled him completely. He had never wanted a man before and now he can think of little else.

Peter feels a chill some days. He knows what is coming: his mother bred him at fourteen, on her Alpha Ascension. He'd dropped a litter of six pups (all gone now, sweet werelings burned alive), and swaggered for years on the strength of something he now knows was solely his Alpha's choice. And when Talia inherited the mantle they would have bred again, this time he and the other betas co-fathering a litter on their beloved Alpha, but it didn't work out that way. Talia died and the pack with her. He'd accept it from Derek, but knows Derek won't; thinks that he can't (Pack magic would fix that, given a chance, but Derek never will). So one day he will be mounted by Stiles, and carry a mage's get. Not bad, for a dead man.

John Stilinski worries. It's not the wolf thing -- well, it is the wolf thing, but not that way. There are twelve kids and counting under five in the Hale pack. The first pups were Stiles and Derek's, which was almost enough of a head trip to make the rest seem tame. Almost. He didn't understand why Derek was 'cheating' on Stiles, or why Stiles seemed entirely complacent, indeed, complicit in these pregnancies. Sometimes he wondered if Derek is planning on impregnating the entire pack. It's times like this he's least comfortable with being pack. He rubs his paunch anxiously.

Melissa worries too, but can't help looking forward to Scott being a parent -- grandparents get all the fun and none of the clean up. Scott's angst over his pregnancy so perfectly mirrors her own anxieties when she was pregnant, while being so utterly unlike her situation that all she can do is laugh. He has if anything too much support, all solicitous and unwanted. Scott isn't amused and she smothers her chuckles, hugging him close. He's nearly due, and deeply conflicted; he wants kids, wants a huge family, and Derek has given him that. The consensus is that the Pack Magic was concerned about the bond between Alpha and beta, and maximized the size of the litter. 

Deaton isn't sure how many pups Scott is carrying. They are so tightly packed in his distended abdomen that he can't count with precision. He feels for Scott -- would have warned him if he'd thought of it, but to someone inside the world of wolves and magic it was such basic knowledge that it didn't even occur to him to mention it when Derek took a mate. The Pack were shocked and amused when Stiles caught, which should, he muses, have been a warning. Still, it will balance in the long run, a new pack where the old once stood, green and growing. The Alpha has done surprisingly well, despite his mistakes. And who among them has made no mistakes?

Three years ago, Stiles thinks, there were no kids, he'd just graduated, and Derek had admitted, for the very first time, that he'd been holding back. That there was more to partnering a werewolf than awesome sex, shared living quarters and abstinence at full moon. At full moon, Derek had said, eyes firmly not meeting Stiles', was when an Alpha was strongest, most potent. Full moon, in short, was when an Alpha, or any wolf, bred. Stiles already knew, had considered the weirdness of male pregnancy, agonised, pondered and accepted his likely fate years before. Perhaps he'd've been less sanguine if he'd known just how many of the Pack pups he wouldn't be carrying himself, 

Derek watches the Pack and it is, at last, good. Their lives are more fulfilled than he ever imagined. The girls are all pregnant now; later he'll breed the boys one at a time. Their litters are riskier. Boyd first,he decides. This will be the last moon Boyd gets to spend rutting in Stiles. Then Jackson, whether luring him back or taking the pack to him, and lastly Isaac, who loves the pups but is terrified that he will hurt them. Bearing his own will change that fear into something healthier and kinder.

There's money to keep the pups, homes for them to live in, forest for them to run in. The burn to breed will ease off soon. The first born litter are almost two, and he can see the dreamy look in Stiles' eyes when he picks up Allison's first born - Victoria Katherine - and cuddles her. Derek wants to give Stiles everything, and this is easy.

So he'd urged Stiles into bed with Erica, with Allison, to mount Scott and breed him too. And Stiles himself is used, slaking the appetites of the Betas who are not yet permitted to breed. Derek licks him clean after the full moon, relishing the mixed tastes. They curl up together and Stiles rubs his hand over Derek's flat midriff. Derek will be last: a pregnant Alpha means a pack is thriving. They aren't there yet, but he can almost see it. 

Derek sighs with relief as the pack bedroom empties. In older, more honest times it would have been called the breeding chamber. The stink of semen and pregnancy makes the Pack eager for more, a cycle that can break a too self-indulgent Pack. He worries that he's allowed them too much latitude, that they are never going to be able to stop. There's more he could do to control them, but he doesn't care to, not any more. He could even control the size of the litters, he's not sure how he knows, but there is a thread winding through the Pack that whispers to him, cull this one, encourage that one, here, this one will be born Alpha, this, a hunter, this a genius. He doesn't. It makes him smile to think that this is not his will, but their choice and the workings of chance. Each will be loved.

Stiles curls into him, his belly flat and empty, and Derek groans at the stink that Boyd left on him. Stiles opens easily for him, slippery and so warm inside that he doesn't like to move his dick, snugged in so tight, not even to fuck. Stiles shifts against him, rocking his ass on Derek's dick, sliding with slow rolling twists of his hips. He clenches hard as he pulls off Derek, and Derek moans, his hips twitching hard, ramming back in, an arrhythmic counterpoint to the gentle movement of Stiles' body.

They blend their pace together, picking up strength and speed, smoothing out the asynchrony until they are in perfect harmony, fucking harder and faster into each other. Derek's back arches, lifting Stiles up and Stiles yells, impaled and cumming hard onto Derek's belly as Derek cums inside him. Derek slumps into the mattress, sinking into it as though every muscle he owns has dissolved into water, too tired to even do more than drop an exhausted arm over Stiles' back when he collapses forward onto Derek's chest. 

Derek smiles into the gathering twilight, the sweat drying on his skin, his cock softening in Stiles's ass. Stiles is sprawled out over him, limp and for a miracle, completely still; his heartbeat tumbles along slowing deeper into sleep with each quiet minute. Maybe this time Stiles will allow Derek's seed to take again in him. Allison too, and soon Boyd will catch his first litter, perhaps once Scott has whelped. 

Downstairs, Isaac and Erica are arguing over dinner in the kitchen; Lydia is on the phone to Jackson (he approves: he has faith in their clever banshee, carefully working on their lost beta). Scott is dozing in Peter's arms, and Boyd is sleeping, dreaming of family. Melissa is watching the pups, and John is asleep in the tv room, the game playing on unwitnessed. Further out the Preserve is silent except for the wildlife. The wards are sealed, and no one can enter their territory without leave. He can feel it in his bones: they are safe. Whole.

The Pack will thrive.


End file.
